For Love of a Queen and a Thief
by Lala Kate
Summary: A series of Outlaw Queen drabbles I have been posting on tumblr. Several of them are forming a story, so I shall label those as "Expectations" verse.
1. Expectations

**Expectations:**

She had expected the backaches, the bloating and discomfort, even the mild nausea that persisted for weeks on end. She had anticipated the frustration of waistbands not fitting, of coats refusing to button, of her breast spilling over what used to fit like a second skin.

She had known what her decision would cost her, to bear his child in secret, to live in relative seclusion, to protect and shelter Henry, Robin, and Roland from a vendetta she had believed long-buried and forgotten. She understood loneliness, was well-acquainted with misery and regret, knew how to press through despondency for the good of at least one who could not survive without her.

But the unfettered joy that bubbled across every nerve and atom at her daughter's first kick, ,making her believe anything was possible, giving her both a reason and the courage to allow herself to hope once more—that was unexpected.


	2. Dreams

Dreams:

He stares at her with an expression into which she instantly dissolves, his gaze moving from her face back to his tattoo, the awestruck wonder in his eyes striking deep places.

"It was me?" His question that cuts through calloused layers, exposing new skin and a youthful heart, and she shivers, feeling naked before him even though she remains fully clothed.

"Yes," her response, her eyes as full as her heart, her soul brimming over until she trembles with the force of feeling freshly scrubbed. Then he kisses her again, and she trembles for other reasons as barriers are discarded and all is laid bare between them, secrets revealed, mysteries tasted and savored with near reverence. She is his as she has been no others, holding nothing back as fear is discarded and hope is embraced.

Then she awakens as she does every morning, alone save the living reminder growing daily within her, rounding her form, softening her edges. She is his, as well, this baby never expected, this daughter crafted by firelight, this child he will never know.


	3. Deep in Thought

#52: Deep in Thought

He cannot shake the images that come at him out of nowhere, their frequency increasing at an alarming rate, their intensity shaking him to his core.

She left without explanation, disappearing from his life so abruptly he still feels as though he is missing a limb. The pain of separation is still raw, so close to the sensation of mourning it both stuns and shames him. His wife is now here—alive and breathing—mother to their son as is the natural order, as is right, as it should be.

Then why does his life seem so off-kilter?

He knows why.

It burrows into every nerve, this longing to gather her up to his chest yet again, to breathe words of love he feels and reassurances he can no longer offer, to lose himself in eyes that have seen too much, to bury the past inside of her as they create something beautiful and new together. She became a part of him that night, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, a love pure yet now forbidden that leaves him torn and unsure.

They can no longer be as one; he is married, he is promised, he is again a husband as well as father. That is his life. That is his responsibility. They are his family.

But Regina…


	4. Illusion

#45: Illusion

She sees it daily, the forced nature of his smile, the tension creasing his eyes, the downward turn of his mouth as he stares into nothing, and she knows he is thinking about someone else.

He is thinking about _her_.

How a man like Robin could care for a woman such as she is too much for her to comprehend, and the knowledge grips her like a vice, making her seethe with a jealously a wife should never have to experience.

It's a spell, she reasons, and enchantment, but she doesn't believe her own deception, seeing genuine desperation written on his every pore, feeling tension radiate off of him as they lie together yet separate in bed. He hasn't touched her since she has returned, not as his wife, not as his lover, and she somehow knows he has touched Regina like that, that he has been a part of her intimately, that they have crested together and cried each other's names to the moonlight and stars.

She has known hate before, and she recognizes its taste, bitter yet addictive, burning her insides with the intensity of strong drink, clouding her reason, stealing her joy. She should be happy—the witch is gone—but her presence lingers, her aftertaste staining her lips when Robin brushes her mouth, her name breathed unconsciously in his sleep, the queen's memory stealing her life all over again.


	5. Precious Treasure

#36: Precious Treasure

She remembers the moment she first suspected, the unsettled rumbling of her stomach, a fatigue she couldn't shake, a heightened tenderness in her breasts, her back regressing into a constant state of discomfort, her moods more irregular than usual, the urge to cry a force she almost could not withstand.

She knew life grew within her before a test ever confirmed it, just as she knew she had to flee his presence before the babe's existence became known.

Just as she knows the child she carries is a girl, just as she knows this baby has magic, her growth draining Regina of reserves both physical and super-natural. Had her mother experienced the same sensations when both she and Zelena grew in her womb?

But there are still mysteries enough concerning her daughter, ones that both intrigue and alarm her. Will her hair be black or blonde, or some shade of brown in between? Will it curl or hang straight? Will it tangle stubbornly or glisten in the sunlight? Will the eyes that gaze back at her be her own or his, and if they are blue, will she able to stare into them without shattering internally? Will she have dimples that match those of her half-brother, that precious boy she will never know? Or will she look like none of them, a child completely independent of the mother and father who gave her life?

Will she be a good mother? Will she be enough for this child created in love and firelight, one she prays wills wield light magic, one she will instruct to be strong, one she already know to be a precious treasure beyond compare?


	6. Dustings of Truth

_An independent drabble posted on tumblr. Hope you enjoy. :)_

* * *

She stores it in a glass vial shoved under her pillow at night, her fingers clasped around it as if it offers some sort of protection in the dark. Mommy wouldn't like it, she fears, so it is thrust into a pocket in her mattress in the mornings, carefully tucked out of sight, her faithful sock monkey instructed to guard it with his life.

Pixie dust is valuable, she knows, worth more than even diamonds, or so Tinkerbelle says. She would be in trouble if they knew she took some—even Mommy would be angry with her, and she would probably have to give it back. But she needs it to find him. Her Daddy—her Papa—the one Mommy still cries over when she thinks no one can hear her, the one Tinkerbelle has told her she looks like even with her dark eyes that match her mother's.

Pixie Dust can find your true love.

She has heard Mommy and Tinkerbelle talk about it many times when they believed she was asleep. Yes—she has magic—magic even Mommy doesn't know about, but it's not strong enough to lead her to their true love-the person who should be with her and Mommy, the one she wants to hug and feel kiss her cheeks, the one who should read bedtime stories to her and tuck her in at night.

The man who can make Mommy smile again.

She will test it tomorrow—she thinks she finally has enough. She then smiles and lets her eyes drift shut, thinking of the backpack she has filled with food and her favorite blanket, certain her plan will not fail, excited at the prospect of making Mommy happy.

Only pixie dust can find the person she needs. Only pixie dust can lead her to her daddy. And pixie dust never lies.


	7. Summer Lovin'

He's not coming.

She should have expected this, should have known better than to mess with an online dating service, but her house was too empty with Henry away for the summer, and she couldn't spend one more night watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns.

His profile had intrigued her—single dad, widower, and an architect of some renown. Of course, she had investigated him, and had been rather shocked to learn he was not only an activist and philanthropist, but the regional coordinator for _The Race for the Cure._

What in God's name had attracted him to her profile, she wonders, staring down at her new dress, knowing she is out of her league. Elementary School Principals don't end up with wealthy widowers, she repeats silently, and she berates herself yet again for agreeing to meet him at this chic restaurant overlooking the beach.

She sighs and puts down the wine list, calculating how she can make a hasty exit unnoticed by the maître d.

"Regina?"

She turns and finds herself speechless, staring up at a man she'd like to have for dessert.

"I'm so sorry," he explains, and she wonders just how blue his eyes really are. "My babysitter fell through at the last minute, and my phone seems to be acting up for some reason. There's nothing I can do right now that can adequately make up for inconveniencing you like this, I know, but perhaps you'd allow me to try?"

"Perhaps," she manages, amazed at how composed she sounds, forcing herself to sip her water rather than finish it off in one gulp. "But I should warn you. I can be rather difficult to impress at times."

A roguish set of dimples nearly take her out as he sits across from her, his brow raising in synch with hers.

"I suppose we could always start with a drink," he suggests, licking his lips in a way that makes her feel half-buzzed.

Perhaps the summer won't be such a waste after all.


	8. Purple Reign

**someonethatiamnot**** said:**

OQ. Purple. Library. "No, not that one. This one."

**Purple Reign: **

"No, Daddy! No, not that one. This one."

He shakes his head in confusion, attempting to pull down the correct book from the shelf, tossing her a look over their daughter's head that warns her not to laugh.

"I thought you wanted _Pinkalicious_," he states, watching light brown curls shake vehemently in response.

"No," the girl giggles. "_Purplelicious_, Daddy. Purple."

"There's a _Purplelicious,_ too?" he questions, his cheeks puffing out in an exhale. "Just how many of these damnable color books are there?"

The librarian shoots him a look from her desk as Regina quirks a brow of reprimand in his direction.

"Watch your language," she whispers, stepping in closer at the roll of his eyes.

"As if she hasn't heard you say worse," he retorts, refusing to look away as her eyes narrow dangerously. He locates the book and places it into eager hands, turning to leave before it is shoved mercilessly back into his face.

"Let's get _Silverlicious_ instead. Ok, Daddy?"

He sighs and tosses the purple book onto the nearest table, the librarian clearing her throat loudly enough to draw attention from other patrons.

"You're going to get us kicked out," Regina cautions, retrieving the book fastidiously.

"Heaven forbid."

He then pulls an entire stack from the shelf, handing them to his daughter whose brown eyes widen in delight.

"All of them?" she queries, making her mother shake her head in disbelief. "Really, Daddy?"

"All of them, princess," he returns with smile, avoiding Regina's gaze like the proverbial plague. "Reading is good for your mind."

"We own half of those, you realize," Regina mutters as they approach the check-out desk, feeling more than hearing his ragged exhale.

"Just get out the damn library card and smile," he instructs, making her heart swell a bit larger as he lovingly picks up their daughter, books and all.


End file.
